If I Didn't Know You
by OpenMindedGirl
Summary: Dean Winchester is a hunter. A great hunter who travels America with his father, hunting evil in the name of his mom and brother, both apparently murdered by Azazel. Sam Winchester is a freak. A powerful freak who was raised by demons from a young age and knows that hunters would kill him in a heartbeat. Neither knew about the other until the day their paths crossed... AU/"What If"
1. Prologue: Dean

******Name:********If I didn't Know You**

******Fandom(s):********Supernatural**

******Pairings:********Nothing to declare~**

******Hey guys! So, Supernatural has been my recent TV show obsession (I know, I'm really late on the uptake here). Now, there have been a lot of great moments, lines and scenes so far (I'm halfway through S7) but a line that still sticks out to me after all this time is something that Dean said to Sam after he saw his using his abilities for the first time. It mentally opened a whole new, terrifying world for me where Sam and Dean never had an emotional bond to keep them from truly turning against each other. And so this story was born!**

******In this story's universe, Mary still died in the nursery fire and Sam was still infected with demon blood. All that is changed is that Azazel kidnapped Sam when he was a toddler, letting John and Dean think that Sam is dead... and hilarity ensues?**

******Set in 2006/Midway Season 1 and continuing for as long as I have the time and/or energy.**

******Rated T for Language, Violence and all that good stuff that Supernatural normally offers. Possible character death in later chapters, I'm still on the fence about where this is all headed.**

******Enjoy!**

"___If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you." _- Dean Winchester in "Metamorphosis"

******Prologue: Dean**

It was a mild January evening in Nevada. The sun was was halfway hidden beyond the horizon and the sky was beginning to deepen in colour. The city of Las Vegas was silhouetted against the bright flares of the sun, a great shadowy colossus crouched at the end of a long stretch of road.

The black, Chevrolet Impala gleamed in the light of the setting sun. It was parked, carefully, at the side of the road, pointed away from the famous city. On her hood, a young man sat, carefully tracing a map with his finger. He was tall and broad, sporting a brown leather jacket and worn jeans. He had short, fair hair and large eyes, which were currently squinting down at the paper before him.

Tapping an "X" on the map, Dean Winchester looked up. The desert stretched for miles ahead of him, with each area of rock and sand looking the same as the last. He sighed heavily before folding the map up and stowing it in a large bag. Slinging the bag over one shoulder, Dean slid off the hood of the Impala and began to trudge off the road.

He counted his steps as he walked, stopping as he reached step number 24. He dropped the bag beside him and took one final glance around the area. This was the spot, he was sure of it. Dean bent down to open the bag and took out his shovel. He backed up, positioned the tool on the sand, then forced it into the ground.

It took just over ten minutes to find the casket; the grave was quite shallow but the rocky sand was difficult to shift. Stopping to catch his breath, Dean stared down at the worn wood of the box, savouring the moment. Then he jabbed the casket with his shovel and watched as it collapsed inwards. The bones and tattered clothes of a young woman were visible inside.

Working quickly, automatically, Dean clambered out of the hole and took two containers of salt and lighter fluid from the bag. As he emptied both products over the corpse, he felt the air begin to grow colder around him. He paused for a split second, then picked up the pace. He knew what was coming.

From his back pocket, Dean snatched a box of matches and struck a light. He was about to be drop the lit match into the grave when something in the corner of his right eye made him turn. A tall, elegant woman in a long black dress and a veil stood before him. As he watched, her eyes widened and blood began to dribble from the corner of her mouth. She reached out towards him, moaning and spluttering.

Dean grinned and straightened up, staring the spirit straight in the eye. His heart was beating faster and yet he didn't feel afraid.

"Not today, you sorry son of a bitch!" he called before finally dropping the match. The first drop of lighter fluid was ignited and the woman began to scream. As the fire in the grave engulfed the corpse, so did spectral flames engulf her. She writhed and screamed for nearly ten seconds before exploding and disappearing into nothing. For a moment, Dean didn't move, again savouring the moment; the feeling of a job well done. Then he kicked some sand onto the burning bones and watched as the fire began to die down.

The sun had almost vanished completely from the sky by the time that Dean had got back to the Impala, covered in a light dusting of sand and ash. He threw the large bag onto the back seat before climbing in behind the wheel. He rubbed his neck and rolled his shoulders, feeling his muscles slowly loosen up. Then he reached up and adjusted his mirror so that he could see behind him. He watched as the first few neon lights in the city began to light up and smiled to himself. He readjusted the mirror and turned on the ignition.

"We're going to Vegas, baby," Dean murmured. His smile stretched into a wide grin and he jammed his foot onto the accelerator. The tyres screeched as the Impala was spun around and then went hurtling towards the great shadowy mass of Las Vegas.

* * *

Spending a few nights in a bad hotel was nothing new for the two Winchesters, but the cramped, dingy building on the edge of the city would probably have made their top ten worst accommodations list. The single light bulb which lit the top floor hallway flickered slightly as Dean fumbled with the lock to his room. He cursed under his breath as the door refused to be unlocked by a key that was refusing to turn. Eventually, he gave up and proceeded to bang twice on the door.

"Hey, it's Dean, the piece of crap key won't work. Can you open up?"

There was the sound of something heavy being put down then creaky footsteps before the door was opened. Dean was about to speak when lukewarm water was splashed into his face.

"Holy water, just checking," said John Winchester, a small flask clutched in his hand. His son raised his eyebrow at him as he entered the room and went to sit on one of the unmade beds.

"Hello to you to, Dad," Dean said, kicking off his dirtied boots. "You know, this is the first time in nearly ten years that no-one's given me a second glance when I've come stumbling through a hotel door covered in grime. Do you reckon they get many hunters passing through here?"

"I reckon they get a bit of everything passing through here," said John, going back over to his bed and picking up a shotgun, "Some guy in his twenties with a duffel bag covered in sand isn't going to bat many eyelids." John imitated a smile; the corners of his mouth pulled up but his dark eyes remained empty. Dean had seen this expression many times before. It didn't mean that John was happy so much as it meant that he was trying to be.

"I guess," said Dean with a yawn. He checked his watch before remembering that he hadn't changed it to the local time.

"It's just past eight," said John as he loaded his gun back into the open case on the floor, "We'll be leaving tomorrow morning for California, OK? I got a tip off from an old friend of mine about some interesting demonic activity..." John looked up at Dean, who was still sat on the bed and staring at his father with a painful expression, "I take it that, since I took care of the locket and you took care of the bones, we're done here?"

"I- Well, yeah... Yes sir." Dean said quietly. There was a weight growing in his stomach as his father turned his attention back to the open chest.

"You were right about where the bones were buried then?" asked John.

"Yeah, I guess I can get that much right."

There was a chinking noise as John stood up, his hands behind his back.

"Well then, I guess this can go down as another job well done..." John smiled, this time more warmly, and handed Dean one of the beer bottles that he had hidden behind his back, "...on my son's birthday."

Dean stared at the bottle incredulously for a moment, then laughed as the weight was lifted from his stomach.

"Jesus, Dad, don't do that to me," he said shakily, taking the bottle from John and opening it, "I honestly thought you'd forgotten."

"Winchesters never forget, Dean," said John, opening his own bottle and raising it to his son, "To 27 years of living."

"And to 16 years of hunting with the world's best," returned Dean, raising his own bottle to his dad.

"Don't be ridiculous, you've been a better hunter than me for some time now," said John, sitting down on his bed and taking a swig, "Remember the vamp nest in Minnesota."

"You keep bringing that up but I learnt everything that I know from you and Bobby."

"Yeah, well, it's your birthday. Just mentioning one of your greatest hits."

John stared down at Dean's foot, which he was tapping on the spot as he drank. Noticing where his dad was looking, Dean sat completely still, earning a strained laugh from John.

"Look, don't think I can't see that you're itching to see the night life around here," said John, taking another sip of his beer.

"Yes Sir, I guess so," said Dean, "I mean... it's not like we pass by Vegas very often, right?"

"Right," said John, standing up and rolling his shoulders, "Well, we leave at five tomorrow morning. You're a big boy and it's your birthday. What you do between now and then is on you."

"You're not coming?" asked Dean, also standing up and staring, surprised, at his dad.

"Nah, I've got stuff to pack..." John looked over to the side table, then back to his son, "You know how it is for me today."

Following John's gaze to the side table, Dean let out a low sigh. No matter where they went, or how long they stayed, the pictures would always be set out. The three of them, each in a golden frame, looked lovingly cared for when set against the tarnished guns and worn clothes.

The first picture was the oldest, a wedding picture of a bride and groom under a white archway. John and Mary Winchester's young, happy faces were set in contrast next to the burn marks around the edge of the photo. The second picture was landscape, and showed a family of four huddled together on a large couch. John held and grinning, wriggling Dean to him while Mary nursed a baby which couldn't have been older than a couple of months. The final picture was the least professional. That is to say that it had been taken by Bobby on a Polaroid rather than by a photographer with a grade A camera. A six-year-old Dean, complete with a mop of fair hair, was crouched down, his arms wrapped around a two-year-old with thick brown hair. They were both covered in mud and smiling up at the camera, the young Dean looking almost prideful.

These three pictures were the only solid pieces of evidence that Sam and Mary Winchester had ever existed. Dean only had a vague memory of little Sammy and an even more vague memory of his mother. That was the reason why these pictures were so precious; they were a constant reminder of who they were fighting for.

Dean walked over to the side table and picked up the picture of Sam and him. He smiled down at his own former self and felt a sudden pang of loss. He may not remember everything about his brother but he remembered the night of his death. It had been Dean's seventh birthday. The yellow-eyed demon had come back, and set fire to the motel room that they had been staying in, starting with Sam's bed. For years after that, John had never dared to leave Dean on his own.

But the demon had never been seen by the Winchesters since. In fact, Yellow Eyes appeared to fall off the map completely for years upon years at a time. John and Bobby told Dean that they had come to the conclusion that the demon had got what it had wanted all this time; Sam's life. Why a top tier demon had wanted to kill a two year old was still beyond anyone's guess.

"Dean?" John's voice sounded as though it was very far away, "Dean, I need to pack them."

"What? Oh, of course," Dean's voice was slightly croaky, his throat having become very dry. He watched his dad, who was usually so heavy-handed with things, carefully stow away the three pictures in a lined box. Then Dean turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom.

"I'll be back before five Dad. We should get a jump on these bitches in case it really is Yellow Eyes."

"Yeah, sure." The not-smile was back on John's face.

Dean closed the bathroom door behind him and stared into the cracked mirror. ___Winchesters never forget_. He stood there for a moment, observing his own reflection and pondering what his little brother might look like if he were still alive.___Us versus them. For Sam and Mary._

Dean rubbed his eyes then turned on the shower. Suddenly, the Vegas strip wasn't quite as inviting as it previously had been.

******AN: Because I'm so short on time right now, I'm dividing the prologue into two, one for Dean and one for Sam. In my personal opinion, I think that Dean's relationship with his dad would have been slightly happier without Sam to worry about, though I can imagine that John would be far more beaten down for obvious reasons. As we can see, Dean's still our little soldier ehe. Next up, we check in with (very not dead) Sam...**

******~Reviews are appreciated~**


	2. Prologue: Sam

**Prologue: Sam**

There were six of them; four men, two women, all demons. Each one of them was tied to their own rickety chair by the wrists and placed beneath individual devil's traps. They were positioned in a circle, facing each other. The five of them who had regained consciousness were staring dazedly around at their surroundings.

The room that they were in was dark and damp. A steady drip of water echoed around the crude stone walls and ivy crept through a single, barred window. The light coming from outside was orange and patchy, giving the impression that it was late evening. The twitter of birds was just audible in the distance.

"Where are we?" muttered one of the men at last. He had a gruff voice, dark hair and a large frame.

"Don't look at me," said one of the women, the shorter of the two with red hair, "I don't even know the area. Heck, I only crawled out of the pit a few days back."

"Me to," said the other woman, a brunette. A couple of the others nodded in agreement. The large, dark-haired man wriggled his arms weakly and growled.

"What is this?" he said darkly, as though daring someone to give him false information, "Is this the work of a hunter?"

"Would have to be a pretty fucked up hunter," said the brunette woman, also straining against against her wrist bindings, "Besides, what hunter would take the time to knock us out and tie us up? Don't they prefer the whole 'kill first, ask questions later' sort of approach?"

"Yeah," said another demon, a young man with carefully styled blond hair, "But if it's not a hunter then what did this to us, and why?"

"Well, I hate to bring up what you're all likely to be thinking..." said the red-headed woman, staring slowly around at the painted traps on the ceiling, "...but doesn't this whole set-up give off a bit of a ritualistic vibe?"

"And that is never a good thing," muttered the fifth demon, a middle aged, balding man in a tatty suit.

There was a few minutes of muted grunting and cursing as the five conscious demons strained against their bonds. Every so often, one of them would stop and clench their fists for a moment, their eyes blackening. Then they'd blink and hiss and start to strain again.

"There is something seriously wrong here," said the middle-aged man at last, letting out one last burst of energy before resettling himself.

"Oh really? No shit Sherlock, what other brilliant conclusions have you come to?" the blond man snapped, staring daggers at the man to his left.

"Hey, shut up kid, that's not what I meant," the middle-aged man said pointedly, "What I mean is that, whatever we've been knocked out with, it's not just messing with our meat suits. Something is compressing us, our abilities and our energy, and that something is scary strong to have an effect on all of us."

All five of them fell silent for a moment so that only the sound of dripping of water filled the room. Then, suddenly, a small cough rang through the near silence. The five demons turned their heads to stare at the final member of the group who had just raised his head and opened his blackened eyes. He was young, somewhere in his early twenties, and tall, with a mess of brown hair which fell over his forehead. He blinked, causing his blacked out eyes to turn hazel, and smiled around at the others with an air of genuine amusement.

"Well, aren't you all sweet, thinking that you're all going to be part of some big scary ritual," he said, in a tone of voice which seemed out of place with his body, "Sorry guys, just a training exercise. Your speculation has been fun though!"

As the others stared in bewilderment, the young man pulled his hands easily away from the arms of his chair, revealing that he had never been tied to it. He stretched and yawned in an over-the-top fashion before smiling up at his devil's trap. Following his gaze, the other five demons noticed something which had escaped their attention before. A single crack in the stone ceiling ran through the painted ring. The red-head was the first to look back down, her eyes burning with aggression.

"Who are you, asshole? Why did you bring us here?"

"Who am I?" said the young man with a crooked smile, "Well, if you're referring to the honey currently riding this meat suit, I like to go by Meg. But if I'm being honest, I'm not the one you should be getting yourselves worked up about. Hell, you could say that I'm good cop!"

There was a rise of angry voices and a renewed struggling. Meg watched happily as the five demons worked themselves into a helpless frenzy. A long, heated minute passed.

Then there was a soft whispering at the back of Meg's mind and her smile faded a little. She pouted and then shrugged.

"Sure Sammy, if you're ready. I've had my fun with these guys..."

"What was that?" said the large man, his voice a dull roar as he strained against his bindings. Meg rolled her eyes, Sam's eyes, and stood up, strolling to the centre of the circle.

"Like I said, this is a training exercise," she said calming, rotating slowly on the spot in order to address everyone, "You guys are kinda like the punching bags. Or exorcising bags, I suppose. Po-ta-to, po-tah-to. Anyway, this adorable little meat suit I'm borrowing is usually goes by Sampson Baker. He's more important than all of you put together so if he needs to practice his abilities, as low rankers, you become willing targets. Are you all with me so far?"

Meg took the other demons' stunned silences as a "yes" and continued.

"If it's any consolation, I'm a part of this little exercise to. Lets see, we've got demon ability suppression..." Meg began to count on her fingers, "...multiple demon exorcism, demon expulsion and banishment being practised here today. Isn't that impressive, guys?"

All of a sudden, Meg's body, convulsed violently. She gasped and bent over double, clutching her stomach and wheezing. The other demons began to mutter darkly and pull against their bindings, though their attentions were focused on the oddity in the centre of the room. Meg was smiling again, though her face twitched in pain.

"It seems that Sam here is getting impatient. I can't really say that I blame him for wanting me out though. Well, this is goodbye then, kids. Thanks for your time!"

Meg convulsed again, this time arching backwards and screaming. Then she started laughing.

"See you in Hell, honeys!" And, with a final, drawn-out cry, a great cloud of black smoke erupted from the young man's mouth. The other demons watched, horrified, as it circled the room before seeping out through the barred window. As soon as the last wisp of blackness had left his mouth, Sam crumpled to his knees, gasping.

All was silent among the room's inhabitance. Carefully, with some apparent effort, Sampson Baker got to his feet. He breathed slowly in and out, feeling five sets of eyes boring into him. Straightening up, he brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"Demon expulsion, done," he said under his breath, his voice hoarse after Meg's screaming. With his face remaining emotionless, he glanced around at the five demons. They had begun to shout again but their words mingled together into background noise.

"Ability suppression..." Despite their straining, not a single demon could access their telekinetic abilities, "...done. Exorcism and banishment..."

Sam closed his eyes and raised his open hands before him. He could feel something powerful pumping through his veins as he began to close his hands into fists. His head throbbed and his hands shook, feeling as if some great force was taking over him.

The demons weren't yelling any more. They were choking. Sam blocked out the sound as best as he could, pulling at the demons through some indescribable motion. A minute passed. His head hurt began to throb. He was not sure why they continued to fight the inevitable.

And then is was over in a great rush. Sam's eyes flew open and he took a huge gulp of air, as though he had just surfaced from a deep pool. Automatically, he put his hand to his nose and was pleasantly surprised to find no blood there. He turned on the spot, surveying the now demon-free bodies, each one slumped in their chairs and motionless.

"Done," he muttered, a small sense of pride filling his chest. From outside, a truck honked three times. Meg was getting impatient already; he had to act quickly.

Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, Sam pulled out a small penknife. Quietly, he darted around the circle of chairs, cutting the bindings off each person's wrists. As he did so, he checked for a pulse, sighing when the first four bodies yielded no results. However, before he could touch the neck of the brunette woman, she moves her head slightly and let out a soft groan.

Sam stared at her, his heart racing, then removed the bindings on her wrists with added speed. Gently, he shook her shoulder.

"Hey, are you OK?" he said, in a voice that was hushed and pleading. The woman slowly straightened up and opened her large brown eyes.

"What... What is..?" She looked quickly around the room then back to Sam and began to struggle, "Get the hell away from me!"

"No wait, please calm down," Sam said in a strained whisper, "There's another demon outside, she'll hear you."

The woman stopped struggling, but still glared at Sam with fear and suspicion.

"So they were all demons... We were possessed by... monsters."

"Demons, yeah," said Sam matter-of-factly, pulling away from the woman and checking his watch, "That sort of thing is real, I'm afraid. Believe me, I know."

"And what does that make you then?" the woman asked suspiciously, shifting forwards on her chair, "I was awake most of the time, I saw what you could do."

Sam looked up at her and smiled as warmly as he could, "Just another brand of freak, I guess. Don't worry about me though, I don't bite."

"Oh, well that's reassuring," said the woman, though she couldn't help but return the smile. From outside, the truck repeated it's three honks causing Sam to look up.

"OK listen up... what's your name?"

"Jenny."

"OK Jenny, I need to go and so do you. In about half an hour, a couple of guys are going to show up and dispose of any bodies that are left in here." Jenny drew a sharp intake of breath but Sam went on, "Now, they're friends of mine but, unfortunately, they won't be any friends of yours. When I leave here, count to two hundred and run. Follow the dirt trail to the main road and never look back. We won't come looking for you, I promise. Just go and forget that this entire episode ever happened."

The two of them made eye contact and Jenny's eyes filled with tears. Sam wanted to comfort her but he didn't know what more to say.

"Good luck," he said finally, then left without waiting for a reaction.

"You took your sweet old time," said Meg, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as Sam clambered into the passenger seat. She had regained control of her usual body, a woman with round eyes and short blonde hair.

"I was untying the bodies," said Sam with a shrug as the engine spluttered into action and the old truck trundled forwards, "One less thing for Tom and Brady to worry about, right?"

"Not even a nose bleed, eh?" said Meg, elbowing him playfully, "That's pretty impressive. Dad will be proud of you Sammy. Oh, that reminds me..." With one had still steering, Meg jerked a thumb over her shoulder, "...there's a good stock of blood in that bag courtesy of our five friends. Dad wants you to up your dosage in the run up to your next birthday. That's a vial every two days now, Sam."

"Well, good to hear Azazel still has my best interests at heart," said Sam in a light sarcastic voice, "Gotta keep me 'safe and happy but, above all, sharp', right Meg?" Though, if truth be told, his heart sped up at the prospect of an increased blood intake. The two drove in silence for a while when a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Hey, can we make a stop on the way back to my place?"

"Sure thing, Sammy," said Meg, turning sharply at a set of lights, and grinning "Anything for our family's favourite meat suit!"

* * *

The hallways of apartment building in Palo Alto seemed too bright after being in a dark truck for most of the evening. Sam hummed to himself as he passed by his own room door and went on to knock on his neighbour's. His heart was beating again, not because of some supernatural craving but because something more normal. So normal, in fact, that Sam was feeling quite proud of himself.

The door opened to reveal a young woman with long curly blonde hair in a long, warm-looking dressing gown. She smiled up at him in recognition and Sam's heart skipped.

"Happy Birthday Jess!" said Sam cheerfully, revealing the small bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back, "From your antisocial neighbour to you!"

"Aw Sam, you shouldn't have," said Jessica Moore in a tone of joyous surprise. She took the lilies in her delicate hands and smelled them, "They're beautiful."

"Well, you said a while back that you didn't like roses, so I you got something a bit different," said Sam, trying to ignore the fact that, now he had nothing to hold onto, his hands had begun to quiver slightly.

"Quite," said Jess, putting the flowers in a small vase and then returning to the door, "Hey, you know what this means. You are so coming out for drinks with me and my friends this Saturday!"

"Really?" Sam stuttered, his shivering hands pressed together behind his back, "Look, you know you don't owe me anything..."

"Yes, but we've been neighbours for nearly forth months now and you don't seem to be a serial killer..." Sam laughed slightly harder than he perhaps should have, "...and you have a great taste in bouquets so that's reason enough to come out with us. You can't use 'family visits' as an excuse every time."

The two of them stared at each other for a moment. Then Jess grinned.

"Come on, it'll be fun. Say you will. For me? On my birthday?"

Realising that he wasn't going to get out of this one, and not really wanting to, Sam nodded, "All right then, let me make a few calls."

"OK!" said Jess, pulling Sam into a quick hug, "Looks like the mystery man is hitting the town!"

Sam smiled again and bid her goodnight before turning on his heel and heading back down the hallway, feeling glorious about his normality. Then he remembered that he was going home to make a call to a demon, telling her that his telekinetic abilities would have to be practised on another day.

**AN: BOOM. SAM'S HERE. I was planning to make him more "dark" than he turned out to be but then I remembered how he looked in season 1 and realised that he was about as threatening as a box of kittens :)**

**No, in all seriousness, I've left some holes (for now) in what I'm planning for Sam's backstory in this universe. I can imagine that Azazel wouldn't have had much to do with Sam directly, leaving Meg and Tom to begrudgingly look after him... As a side note, demons are really fun to write~**

**A big thank you to everyone who's reading and an extra cookie for those who reviewed! I honestly didn't expect so much feedback for a relatively short chapter which was mainly Dean being Dean. It keeps me motivated to continue writing, even with my busy schedule.**

**NEXT TIME: No more prologues, all story baby! Dean and John arrive in Cali to investigate a string of disappearances with demonic overtones.**

**Thanks again guys!**

**~Reviews are appreciated~**


	3. Ch1: Close Encounter

**Ch1: Close Encounter**

The lights were dazzling. The music thumped with loud, repetitive beats. The entire world was a blur of dancing and turning and he was more than happy to enjoy the ride.

Dean smiled dazedly, leaning back into his padded bar stool. His vision was wavering around the edges and he felt pleasantly disorientated, like he was lost in his own personal wonderland. Las Vegas was everything that he'd hoped for and, thanks to the work of a certain father and son, it would be safe from spirits for another night.

Dean caught the eye of a beautiful woman with sleek black hair, sitting at a table nearby, and his smile widened. Feeling just the right level of intoxicated and surrounded by gorgeous people, who were now safe thanks to him, was just about the greatest gift that he could have received on his birthday. Saving people and drinking things. Or whatever.

Closing his eyes in a moment of pure ecstasy, Dean tilted his head back, feeling as though he was floating slowly through deep water. It was strangely relaxing. Too strange to be normal, Dean thought suddenly. No sooner had his eyes flew open, two loud bangs reverberated through his mind.

Dean shot up out of his lying position and his head connected with the roof of the Impala. Letting out a stream of curses and groans, Dean crumbled back into the back-seat, clutching his temples with both hands. Bright, merciless sunlight poured though the windows doing nothing to aid the throbbing pain in his head.

Forcing his stinging eyes open, Dean's vision came to focus on the silhouetted figure peering through the window. John's face was etched with surprise, his fist still frozen in position after having knocked on the glass. Then his face broke into a smile; a genuine smile no less.

"You managed to sleep through the entire journey, Dean," said John after opening the door and extending a paper cup of coffee towards him. Dean held his aching head for a moment longer before pulling himself into a sitting position and taking the coffee. The pain of hitting his head and being more than a little hung-over was still present but he ignored it as he sipped his drink.

"That's nearly nine hours of sleep Dean," John continued, taking his own coffee from the roof of the Impala.

"Nine hours?" Dean said, genuinely surprised, "I don't remember ever being asleep for that long, even back when I was a kid."

"Well, I guess that Vegas left quite an impact. You were definitely a happy, exhausted drunk at half past four this morning."

"You should have woken me up, Dad. That's one hell of a drive to take on solo."

"I took a few stops. I was fine. I was also pretty motivated to get on this case quickly. Speaking of which..." John squinted against the glare of the sun, staring down at his watch, "...by the time you get your head straight, it'll be more or less two o'clock. You better get freshened up and ready to do some digging around town."

"Right," Dean murmured, draining his coffee and nearly burning up his throat in the process. Every time that their investigations led them to possible demon sightings, John would be extra keen to get moving. Dean couldn't blame him, in fact he felt just as eager. Because, every time, the two Winchesters would be thinking the same thing. This time, they could be led straight to Yellow Eyes.

* * *

"I'll start by checking usual suspects," said John as he followed Dean out of their motel room. They had both changed into their cheap suits, with each pocket containing fake IDs and scammed credit cards. "The police station, the morgue, those kinds of places."

"I'll ask around town then," said Dean, rubbing the side of his head with his two fingers. His head did not hurt nearly as much but the pain was still there. John took a piece of paper from his pocket as they left the building together.

"Now as far as I know, over the past few months, a few people around this area have been acting out in strange ways before suddenly going missing." John's voice was monotonous, a tone which he saved for reciting information on hunts.

"Demonic possession." Dean said with a confident nod.

"Exactly, but that's not the strange part."

"Well, I think that it's fair to say that we have a pretty screwed up idea of what counts as strange." Dean grinned at John. However, John was too focused on the sheet of paper to notice.

"Normally, as we know, when someone's been possessed, the demon usually sticks around for a while to toy with the friends and relatives of the person that they're possessing. Then they move on to mess with other people, which are usually where the missing people's cases come from."

"Right, demons are assholes. So what's so special about what's happening around here?"

"Well, the first bit checks out with people suddenly starting to act strangely, even violently. But the odd thing is that it's been happening increasingly often, with far more possessions than what we usually see. There were six missing people cases in the last week alone."

Dean did a slight double take, "Seriously? That's a pretty damn high disappearance rate. So no other hunters have caught on until now?"

"Well, that's the second odd thing; no-one was entirely sure that these were possessions at first. Remember, the demon usually moves on of their own accord after a while. But here? The possessed people have been going missing after a break-in and signs of a struggle which suggests..."

"Which suggests that someone is kidnapping the demons." Dean said, stopping in his tracks so abruptly that John bumped into him. John turned to his son, whose large eyes had glazed over in thought. His brow was furrowed as he tried to fit the mismatched pieces together.

Then he blinked and smiled reassuringly at John.

"We'll figure it out, Dad. It's what we do."

"All right then, this is my first stop," said John, gesturing across the main road at the small police station, "You do some digging and, er, get yourself something to eat. You need to stay sharp."

"Yes sir," said Dean, his mind still racing over the information that he had just received. This was a strange case. Whether or not it was strange enough to be connected to Yellow Eyes remained to be seen.

The streets of Palo Alto were neither too busy nor too quiet. There were a number of students and casual shoppers going about their respective business as Dean passed by the glimmering shop windows. Though the window of one diner, he noticed a man with grey hair get to his feet, leaving his newspaper at the bar. Dean slowed his pace and watched as the man paid, shrugged on his coat and headed for the front door. As he left, Dean darted around him and into the diner, causing the bell above the door to tinkle.

Inside, it was warm and homely or, at least, what Dean presumed was "homely". A few tables were occupied by tired teenagers and murmuring co-workers. In the corner sat two young men who were laughing at each other's jokes loudly enough to make up for everyone else's relative quiet. Dean strolled over to the bar, taking the seat that had previously been occupied, and pulled the newspaper towards him.

It was that day's issue of the local paper. Excellent, Dean thought, thank God for old people who only need to read things once through.

"Can I get you anything?" A blonde waitress in a plain red shirt had come to stand on the other side of the bar. She tilted her head to the side, taking in Dean's appearance before adding an uncertain, "Officer?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," said Dean, overlapping his fingers and shooting the waitress a winning smile, "Coffee, a slice of pie and and a moment of your time, please?"

The waitress smiled back at him, before glancing around the diner to be sure that no-one else was trying to place an order. "Sure, if it's just a moment."

As she bustled over to the coffee pot, Dean stared back down at the front page. The headline read _Local Woman Found Two Days After Disappearance _and then, in smaller writing beneath, _The mystery continues as one of six recent missing persons from the Palo Alto area reappears._

"Hey, mister, I'm really sorry," said the waitress, coming back over with a large coffee, "But I forgot that we're fresh out of pie."

"Really?" said Dean, looking up at her, "Huh. I've never had that happen before. I wouldn't know what else to order."

"Yeah, sorry, the last piece went to that blond guy in the corner."

The two young men suddenly let out another wave of laughter and Dean couldn't help but smirk at the opportune timing.

"Don't worry about it," he said, though his stomach growled a little. He took a sip of his second coffee of the day before continuing. "Now, could I have that moment of your time?"

"I guess," said the waitress. The two of them leaned forward towards each other and she smirked, "Is this official work or are you looking for my number?" Dean smiled.

"Perhaps both. Either way, the professional agenda should come first, don't you think?" he said with an easy charm. He pushed the newspaper forwards and a sudden pained look shot across the woman's face as she read the headline, "See, I'm new around here, as is my associate, and I was just wondering what the local word is on this string of kidnappings."

The waitress was quiet for a moment. Then she sighed and looked back up to Dean.

"It doesn't say who the found woman is in the paper yet, but her name is Jenny Kingsley. She's a friend of mine. Or, at least, I though that she was..." Her voice shook slightly. Dean's face fell and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I'm sorry. If it's a personal thing..."

"No no, it's okay. We, er, had a falling out just before she went missing," said the waitress. She bit her lip for a moment then the words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush, "She said some very hurtful things and then she was kidnapped, snatched from her own house. It's horrible, right? Then I got a call from her this morning saying that she was in hospital and that she was sorry and..." She stopped for a moment, seeming to fall back to reality, "...the things that she said... you realise that she's delusional, right? Traumatised."

Dean was silent for a few seconds before reaching forward and gently taking her hand, "What did she say? Trust me, I've heard everything before." The waitress stared blankly.

"She said that she was captured by demons," she muttered in a shaking voice. Suddenly the words came rushing out again, "I mean can you imagine what they were doing to her to make her say such a thing. Demons? Jen's normally so rational, how could she even..?" The waitress trailed off, turning away from Dean. A knot had worked itself into the hunter's gut, a familiar feeling of guilt and responsibility which came with talking to civilians. Drumming his fingers on the counter, he took another mouthful of hot coffee.

"Your friend, Jenny, she's still at the hospital?"

The waitress nodded. "The psych ward."

The psychiatric ward, of course. That was all the information the he needed. If he wanted to, he could leave now to find John.

There was pause before Dean spoke, his face reforming into a reassuring expression. He relaxed his stance and brought his coffee back up to his mouth.

"Hey, so what's it normally like around here? Is it always this quiet?" The waitress smiled, her face softening with relief, and then fell gratefully into more a normal conversation.

On the waitress' recommendation, Dean ordered the lunch special of burger and fries. As a man who had travelled the country and eaten in many diners, he was more than happy to give a positive review to the chef. The waitress laughed and so did Dean. By the time that he had finished up and paid, the tense atmosphere had eased enough for Dean to feel comfortable in leaving.

As he bid a final thank you and got to his feet, the two young men who had been sat in the corner passed him, still chuckling. One of them gave the other an affectionate push in the side, catching him off guard and sending him stumbling into Dean. Automatically, Dean caught the brown-haired figure by his jacket sleeve.

"Woah there. Are you all right?"

"Sorry!" said the young man breathlessly, straightening up and grinning. He was taller than Dean though, at a guess, he appeared to be slightly younger, "Jeez, Brady, are you trying to kill me?"

Both Dean and the young man looked cheerily over to his fair-haired friend; Brady. However, Brady wasn't smiling as he had been before.

He was staring at Dean. His head tilted to the side and he wore an odd expression; vague recognition mixed with something darker. Dean raised an eyebrow at the stranger while the unnamed man, seemingly oblivious, glanced between them.

"What? Am I missing something? Do you two..?"

"Sampson." Brady's voice, while calm, was sharp and caused his friend to fall silent. Dean was confused by the stranger's tone, turning to Sampson as though seeking clarification. Sampson's face had fallen; a hint of fear was growing in his controlled expression as he glanced quickly from Dean to Brady.

"We need to go?" he asked.

"Yes," Brady said shortly, and then to Dean, "Sorry to bother you." With that, the two young men left the diner, the bell above the door tickling as they swept away. Dean stood frozen, unsure as to how to react to the strange mood which had come over the scene. Finally, the waitress walked around the bar to address him.

"They're an odd lot, Officer, don't worry about them." Dean blinked, his hunter's instincts beginning to creep back to the forefront of his mind.

"Are they new around here by any chance?"

"Fairly new, I've seen them here a few times recently. Sometimes there's a girl with them. They can be kinda loud but they keep themselves to themselves." The waitress sighed, and then headed off to clean tables. Slowly, with his eyes still trained on the doorway, Dean pulled a notepad and a pen from him pocket. With the lid between his teeth, he scrawled down a few words on the first page.

_Brady. Sampson. New in town._

* * *

Brady was silent as they walked quickly down the street, not stopping nor looking back. Sam's heart was beating at what seemed like twice its normal rate and he felt strangely light-headed. Nobody tended called him "Sampson". He had always resented the name which Azazel had picked for him, had always preferred, for whatever reason, to go by "Sam" or "Sammy". The only times in which his friends used his full name to address him was when there was danger nearby and he needed to be alerted to it without raising the alarm.

It had only happened twice before. Once in New Jersey, when he was nine, Sam had almost been lured away from Tom's watchful eye by a vampire. The second time, in Houston, a fifteen-year-old Sam had gotten a little too talkative with a potentially hostile demon. Meg and Tom, through Azazel's insistence, had always informed Sam that he was constantly facing threats in a world that either wanted to use him or kill him. It was a rare occasion indeed, however, that Sam would share breathing space with such threats; threats which Meg and Tom shielded him from everyday.

Brady took a sharp left, leading them off the main road and partway down the side-street. After he signalled for Sam to pause, Brady quickly doubled back, standing, as though on guard, at the end of the narrow street.

"Well?" Sam said pointedly, pushing his hands into his pockets and trying to stand still. Brady didn't look at him. He stayed, poised, staring up the main street like a dog trying to catch a scent in the breeze. A long minute passed before Sam laughed nervously.

"Hey, seriously, what is it? Who was that guy? What is he? A vampire? A witch? I can handle the truth, you know."

Brady dropped his gaze, his brow furrowing. He seemed to be wondering how the phrase his thoughts. After a moment, however, he smirked sardonically, turning back the look at Sam.

"Of course you don't recognise him, why would you?" He seemed to be speaking more to himself than Sam.

"I- What?"

"Never mind." In one smooth movement, Brady strolled back over to Sam and placed a hand on his arm. He still wore the same strange smirk, "Oh Sammy. You're great loping ass just managed to collide with Dean Winchester. He's human. He's a hunter; a hunter with a serious bone to pick with Azazel and company. Are you following me?"

A hunter. _A hunter._ Sam's stomach gave a strange lurch at the sound of the word. He had heard more than enough bloodied stories about hunters to permit such a reaction.

"Yeah, that's right," said Brady with a knowing nod, "He's kinda infamous; the Winchesters have been for a while now. This is the same hunter who kicked me back downstairs a few years ago. He was younger then but I'll never forget the asshole's face. Hell, if I hadn't gotten myself a brand new meat suit since then, he probably would have... Sam? Where are you going?" Brady's knowing drawl switched to a sudden panic as Sam strode past him onto the main street. Now it was Sam who was staring back to where they had come from, trying to catch a glimpse of the hunter, the subject of so many bitter stories. Any potential danger was pushed to the back of his mind by simple curiosity.

The diner was just visible in the distance though the growing crowd of shoppers made it more difficult to see.

"Stop," said Brady, his voice uncharacteristically high, "Didn't you hear me? Dean Winchester, friggin' hunter. He's more dangerous than anything that you could have possibly bumped into."

Sam rolled his eyes, "OK Brady."

"I'm serious, man. Haven't we established that humans with sharp objects are pretty much as bad as it gets? Like if the world was a game of rock, paper, scissors, hunters can trump demons, even when they're as great as me," Brady finished with a slight air of bitterness. Clearly being exorcised by a teenager had left a mark on his inflated ego.

Sam watched as Dean, the infamous hunter, exited the distant diner. He pulled his suit jacket a little tighter around himself in the cool air and squinted against the gleam of the sunlight. He stood still for a moment, appearing to be lost in thought. Then he took a small black object, his phone, from his pocket and walked away in the opposite direction, dialling a number as he went.

From the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Brady watching him, trying to gage his reaction.

"What? I'm allowed to get a good look at the guy who's out for our blood, aren't I?"

Brady tilted his head to the side, his gaze searching, "Sure man."

"Ok," said Sam with a bemused smile at Brady's unusual intensity. He watched as the hunter's back disappeared into the crowd, "I don't know why you're getting so worked up just because this guy got the best of you once..."

"Hey, that's not why I-"

"...and anyway, we have the upper hand here. We know things that he doesn't."

Brady made a strange, choked noise, furthering Sam's bemusement. Trying to relax his friend, he placed a hand on Brady's shoulder and smiled, eyebrows raised.

"Hey, are you OK? You're acting really off."

"I'm fine," Brady snapped, shrugging off Sam's patronising comfort, "Go on, what do we know?"

"Well, the layout of the area for one thing," said Sam slowly, feeling as though he was stating the obvious, "Not to mention who is and isn't a demon. Seriously, Brady, you're not yourself."

"It's not my fault," said Brady testily, "You don't get it. Azazel is going to be all manner of pissed that you met... that a Winchester is in town."

Sam could not argue that point. It didn't seem like it took very much coaxing to make Azazel "all manner of pissed" when Sam's safety was in question. Still, this was the first hunter to ever directly cross his path and, with all the trouble that hunters had caused Meg, Tom and Brady in the past, Sam was interested in seeing what he would do.

He wasn't afraid. Hunters were only human, after all. If things became messy, Sam was sure that he could hold his own.

**AN: Wait, before anything else, I'M SORRY FOR THE DELAY GUYS. It was not my smartest move to begin a fanfic just before my exams/revision time hit ehe... What I'm trying to say is that I've been really busy over the last few weeks but I'm back in the clear now with a full summer of potential writing stretching ahead of me~**

**Just so y'all know, despite my exams, I was still continually writing this chapter, only in a rather slow, disjointed way. Because of this, eh, there are some things bothering here which I'll readdress later (idk the writing seems awkward in places). I just really wanted to get this uploaded asap seeing as you guys have been so wonderful and I didn't want you to wait longer than necessary. Muchos love.**

**OK, anyway, the chapter! Not too much is happening yet seeing as Dean and John are one step behind YED and Co. right now. Never fear, they're professionals. Again, I can imagine that, without Sam, Dean would be a better hunter in some respects. He'd be used to doing more research and getting the job done as quickly as possible to help people. In canon, he already grew up too fast and I can only speculate on what not having Sam around would do to him. This is kinda the nicest version of the scenario (for now); he's still our well-known Dean at his core but with a deeper sadness and a greater focus on the job.**

**Also, a little more info on Sam is leaking in. His storyline has, obviously, had a more drastic change than Dean's and I'm still fine-tuning the details. (As a personal side note, I think that Brady was a great big bag of dicks in the show and writing Sam being even a little chummy with him hurts my soul. But hey, that's the way this universe goes.) All the demons are aware of the brother situation btw, though that much will become clear later.**

**Thank you to everyone who's reading and reviewing and thank you for you patience. You're all wonderful and I'm sorry to have left you hanging! Also ChiKa-RoXy: You know, I've never heard that headcanon before, it's adorable. I'll see if I can slip it in somewhere though God knows if Dean will ever get his damn pie, no matter what AU. **

**...Wow this is a long ass author's note. Let's wrap it up...**

**NEXT TIME: The Winchester duo continue their investigation at the local hospital, following a lead with unexpected results..**

**~Reviews are appreciated~**


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